


i've been there, but it gets better

by broadway_hufflepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But I didn't write it as slash, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Redemption, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Guilt, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Helpline Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slash if you squint, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadway_hufflepuff/pseuds/broadway_hufflepuff
Summary: "I think I talked to you," replied Draco, but in his mind, he knew he absolutely talked to him. He couldn't forget that voice anywhere. It was just so familiar, he couldn't put his finger on it. "How can I be of assistance today?""I'm afraid of myself," the boy said quickly. "Does that make any sense?"*see notes for trigger warnings*
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (if you squint)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 144





	i've been there, but it gets better

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE SEE TRIGGER WARNINGS BELOW:  
> TW: suicidal thoughts, survivor's guilt
> 
> Hey guys! This is a fic idea I've been sitting on for a while. I came up with it while watching an episode of the show "American Housewife" on ABC where one of the kids gets a job at a Teen Helpline center. I thought it would be a cool idea to make a Post-War Helpline Fic: where part of Draco's parole is to help manage those lines. I've yet to see any fics like this, so I hope I do it justice! I didn't write this as slash, but I guess you can read it as pre-slash if that's what you want.  
> I don't own these characters.  
> As usual, please do not repost my work.  
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> As a person who struggles with OCD and anxiety, I understand this may not be the best thing to read for some people. PLEASE be healthy, and stay safe. Only read if you feel comfortable.

_This is ridiculous,_ thought Draco. He sits, stiff-backed against the spinny chair Percy Weasley had pointed him to. Did the Ministry really believe that answering calls for this _pointless_ helpline was going to make people believe he had changed?

He didn't think so.

Deep down, Draco knew he was different than he had been before the war. He was kinder- not a pureblood supremacist- and quieter. While people threw stones at them, he simply caught them. He wasn't about to throw cruel words back after all the people his family- no, scratch that- all the people _he_ had hurt.

"Mr. Malfoy," Percy said, appearing back behind him. 

"Still with the formalities, I see," sighed Draco. 

Percy ignored him. "Here's a packet to guide you through calls. Remember, this helpline is supposed to aid people while they struggle with the trauma of the recent war. _Don't_ provoke any harsh memories."

Draco swallowed. He wasn't really _that_ bad, was he? Did this redheaded imbecile _actually_ believe he would do such a thing? "Alright. Thank you." The words slipped quietly off his tongue before he even realised he was speaking. 

Percy dropped the folder on the desk in front of him. It was bare, save for the telephone. 

"Just grab a supervisor if you need anything, Malfoy," said the Weasel-spawn, before stalking out of the room.

Draco kicked his feet up onto the desk and thumbed through the packet. If anyone knew it was the Death Eater scum Draco Malfoy on the other end assuring them that they "weren't alone," Draco was sure they would mentally combust on the spot. Why they didn't hire the Boy Who Bloody Lived, Draco didn't know. Figures, another thing Potter would get handed to him. An easy life. 

The phone rang, and Draco jumped. "Hello, this is the Ministry of Magic War Helpline," he said, his voice robotic. 

"Hello," the person said, "I'm just- very frusterated. My daughter lost so much of her education time and I'm worried she won't be able to recover." Draco held in a sigh. If these were what all of the calls, Draco could handle this. Piece of cake.

"She's not alone in that," he replied evenly, keeping his voice calm. "I promise, a lot of people are in the same boat." 

Not many more people called after that- many wizards hated admitting to any kind of ailment, physical or mental. The ones who did call were somber, often just wanting someone to listen to the tales of a lost loved one.

Draco was doing fine, easily. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

And then the phone rang, thirty minutes before his shift was over. Draco stifiled a yawn before answering. "Hello," he spoke, trying to void the boredom from his voice, "Ministry of Magic War Helpline."

There's a shaky breath on the other end of the call. Draco raises a single eyebrow, although he's fully aware nobody can see him. 

"Hello?" Draco repeats. "Is anyone there?"

"...yes," a voice replies, choked and oddly familiar. "Sorry, I... maybe I shouldn't have called. Never mind."

Draco straightens. "No! Hold on, um..." He flips through the pamphlet. Finally, he settles on: "What's on your mind?"

The boy on the other end's breathing quivers. "I just... I feel like everyone's blood is on my hands."

"Why is that?"

"Because all of this is my fault, I could have stopped it."

Draco's heartbeat quickens. Without meaning to, he says "Unless you're Voldemort himself, then it isn't your fault."

"It _is,_ though. _You_ weren't there, how should you _know_?" The harshness in his voice makes Draco scoff. "Sorry," the boy rushes. "Bloody hell, I shouldn't have... this was stupid, you know? Sorry for wasting your time."

The line goes dead.

* * *

Draco didn't hear from the mystery boy again until a week later. It had been a slow day, in terms of phone calls, and he was busy lamenting over the Prophet's most recent article: how Potter had saved the Malfoy's from a life of ruin. Well, 2/3 anyway. Not that Lucius didn't deserve what he got.

Sure, he was grateful for Potter's statement. It had saved Draco, and more importantly, his mother. But that didn't mean he had to like the guy. Harry Potter was, and would always be, a pompous, ignorant, arrogant bloody Gryffindor.

The phone rang so suddenly, Draco dropped the Daily Prophet onto the naked desk. He composed himself. "Hello, this is the Ministry of Magic War Helpline."

"I, er, called a week or so ago," the voice said, and Draco stilled. He remembered- the person who'd panicked and hung up. "I don't know if I'm talking to the same person or not."

"I think I talked to you," replied Draco, but in his mind, he knew he _absolutely_ talked to him. He couldn't forget that voice _anywhere._ It was just so familiar, he couldn't put his finger on it. "How can I be of assistance today?" 

"I'm afraid of myself," the boy said quickly. "Does that make any sense?"

It didn't, not really. Still, Draco said: "Yes. Could you elaborate, please?"

There was a cough, and a sniff. Had he been crying? "I don't know. After the war, I just- my friends have been amazing, really. Trying to help me while avoiding the press."

Draco furrowed his brows. "Avoiding the _press_?" Who would need to avoid the press?

"Shit, I shouldn't have said that. Forget I said that. Please." There was a ruffling on the other end. "Sometimes I just worry. That I'm not in control."

"That's understandable."

"I guess." The boy took a breath. "I worry that it would be _so easy,"_ he says.

"What would?" asked Draco.

"Dying," the person replied. "Death."

Draco's stomach sank. "Your life matters," he said slowly, looking at the pamphlet. "People care about you."

The boy laughed. _Familiar._ "You say that, yet you don't know who I am."

"Everyone matters." Draco surprised himself, with that one. It wasn't even in the folder.

"I only matter because of my title. Because of my name. There's only two people in this entire world who really care about me." A sob crackled over the phone line. 

"Two people is better than no one," Draco said softly, "And I'm sure more than two people care about you."

"I should go," he choked. "I should... this was a bad idea."

Something unsettling nested in Draco's stomach. "I don't really think you should leave. Not right now."

"I can't be alone right now," the boy agreed. "But Ron and Hermione are in Austrailia."

"Oh," said Draco. And then: _"Oh. Shit. Potter?"_

Harry gasped. "Oh, no, bloody- I didn't mean to-"

The phone line crackled and the connection breaks. 

Draco leaned back, reeling. Fuck. Fuck. Potter.

He stood up, grabbing his coat. 

"Malfoy, where are you going?" demanded Percy, from the back office. "Your shift isn't-"

"I'm sorry," said Draco, "Cover for me. I think someone's going to- I'm worried someone's about to do something they're going to regret." He slid out the door before Percy could protest.

* * *

He was _extremely_ lucky that Narcissa had informed him that 12 Grimmauld Place was in the possession of Harry Potter. 

His hand rapped on the door sharply. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

He tried the doorknob, and when there was still no answer, he went in. "Potter?" he called, his voice oddly panicked. He walked further into the house, his footsteps growing more and more intense. _He's not dead, right? He can't be dead, he can't be dead, he can't-_

"M-Malfoy?"

Draco whirled around, blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. There, miserable and pale, was Potter. "Oh," said Draco dumbly. "You're okay."

Potter shrugged, looking like the weight of his shoulders was going to collapse over him any second. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't play this game with me, Potter. It was _me,_ at the helpline. You're-"

"-suicidal? No," Harry was too quick to answer. "I promise. I'm not. I just worry." His face was pained. "I swear. It just scares me, how easy it would be-"

Draco grabbed his arm. "Potter, _stop._ You look like you're going to pass out. Sit down."

He did. On the floor, in the middle of the doorway.

Draco waited for him to explain. To kick him out. Instead, Harry says: "I didn't mean for you to find out it was me, you know."

Smiling bitterly, Draco joined him on the floor. "Yeah, you made that abundantly clear when you hung up. Which was... kind of terrifying, honestly. You sounded _really_ bad, I thought..." he trailed off.

Harry snorted. "You were concerned? Even when you found out it was _me?"_

Draco frowned. Had the famous Harry Potter always thought this lowly of himself? Had Draco really been so arrogantly blind to assume Potter was living a charmed life, all the tiime? "Despite what you may think of me, Potter, I don't wish death on anyone."

"I thought you hated me."

Draco shrugged. "I did, once. I guess... not that much anymore." He paused. "Maybe you should see someone."

"And get the Daily Prophet all riled up? Yeah, no thanks." Harry leaned his back against the door frame. "Besides, I can handle it."

"Can you?" asked Draco. "I mean... no offense, but you don't bloody _look_ like you're handling it."

Harry's face darkened. "Please don't tell anyone." His eyes went wild and he raked a hand through his hair. "Please, I- I don't want Ron and Hermione abandoning her parents because I can't live on my own."

Draco stored that piece of information away: the Weasel and Granger were looking for the latter's Muggle parents. Something must have happened during the War. "Why not get a roommate?"

"Nobody wants to deal with _this,"_ Harry gestured around. "Maybe I should give up."

"Harry, _no, you can't-"_

"I don't mean suicide, Malfoy," Harry said, ever-so bluntly. "I just meant stop trying to please everyone."

Draco sighed, relieved. He hated to admit that he genuinely cared, but he did. "Maybe you should."

Harry smiled. "Yeah."

They went silent for a moment. Harry picked at splintering piece of floorboard. Draco listened to the sound of the rain on the roof. "Are you going to be alright here alone?" Draco finally said. "Because... I can stay."

Harry's eyes widened. "You- you have a family to go home to, I couldn't possibly ask you to-"

"I can come by," Draco said slowly, "Every so often. Check in."

"You'd do that for me?" Potter's voice sounded small. Meek. So unlike him.

Draco stood up. "I suppose. I mean, what else can I do?" He phrases it as a rhetorical question, but then adds softly: "No, really, Potter. _Is_ there anything else I can do? Because, I get it. I've been here. It sucks. It gets better, but it sucks."

Harry smiled. "You've helped... a lot, actually. Thank you."

Draco grunted, as though remembering who he was. "Yes, well. That's that."

"That's that," repeated Harry. 

Draco left a cup of tea on the kitchen table on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
